


Familiar Places

by ComeChaos



Series: One Crack in the Stone [3]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Fix-It, Hayes POV, M/M, Rough Sex, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:19:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2113140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeChaos/pseuds/ComeChaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hayes does not die in 'Countdown'. The second of two alternative sequels to 'Disclosure'.</p>
<p>Contains a bit of rough sex done wrong, so beware of that. I don't do angst-free fix-its.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Familiar Places

It's done.

When Captain Archer declared his intention to board the Xindi weapon and attempt to destroy it, I was sure it was over. We were securing the area when the warning signal coming through my com implant told me that I had lost Forbes, but I kept going without looking back. I stood right behind Malcolm when he told the Captain that he should be the one to set the charges, and for a moment I was certain that I would never see him again. Right then it didn't matter. It was all part of the job. My orders were still to return to Degra's ship with Woods and Ensign Sato. I had brought her home safely once for Malcolm – I would do it a thousand times if needed.

The Captain denied Malcolm's offer, and now he's gone, and Malcolm is alive. 

And we're on our way home.

I stare at the computer screen for another minute before giving up and erasing the letters on it. My plan was to send a brief initial report to General Casey and thereby avoid having to answer a million questions the moment we come into communications range, but I seem to have temporarily lost my ability to string words together in a way that makes sense.

There's no mistaking that Malcolm and the Captain were close. It always felt out of place, hearing the Captain address him by his first name. Even more so when it's something I've begun to do only recently, and only when any other choice would be unacceptable. 

Malcolm, on the other hand, was always as correct as could be expected. He shares my views in this matter. Last week, he told me about the time he got his leg pinned to the hull of the ship by a mine he was attempting to defuse. The Captain himself suited up and went out on the hull,where he refused to cut Malcolm loose and instead engaged him in all kinds of small talk, completely irrelevant to the situation, while trying to eliminate the threat of an explosion. Still, in the end, his tactics saved both Malcolm's life and his leg.

Captain Archer's approach to his job may have been unorthodox, but what he did, he did well.

Rising from my desk, I do a couple of stretches and go to lie down on my bunk. It's been far too long since I slept or ate anything other than a few energy bars, but somehow I don't think I can manage either just yet. As much as I try to push away the thought, I know perfectly well what the problem is.

I need to see Malcolm.

I can't bring the Captain back any more than I can resurrect Forbes, or Santos, or Hawkins, or Khawaja. I spoke to my team an hour ago – said what needed to be said, stayed as long as was prudent, even accepted an awkward hug from McKenzie. They're all good people, but I'm not like Captain Archer. Some things are strictly beyond my duty. 

With Malcolm it's different. I want to be there for him now, though I can't deny that I also have my own selfish reasons. With the mission completed, we'll go our separate ways. Enterprise will have no more use for a MACO unit, and back on Earth, with billions of people to choose from, Malcolm won't need _me_ anymore. 

I haven't had a moment alone with him since before my team brought Ensign Sato back from the Reptilian ship. It's no surprise, considering that every standing crew member was working around the clock until a few hours ago, but now it's finally over, and I still can't go to him. I can't go to him, because that's not how we do this. 

We've established a routine. One time he'll come to my quarters and take what he wants from me. Sometimes I resist for the sake of it – sometimes I don't. The next time I'll be the one going to his quarters to play with him until he lets me have my way. Back and forth, never getting even, because we've conveniently decided to forget who started it. I came to him two nights before Hawkins died and Sato was abducted. Since then, it hasn't been my place to disturb him, not even just to talk. 

So I wait, and hope against hope, because there's nothing else for me to do.

And then the door chimes – and I close my eyes and count to five before answering it. The next thing I know, Malcolm is pushing me backward with a hand to my chest. I move with him until he stops and grasps the side of my face, steel grey eyes burning into mine. There is so much anger and sorrow in them that I can barely hold his gaze.

He tilts his face up, and I waste no time in covering his parted lips with my own. He kisses me carelessly and soon starts nudging me backward again, until the back of my legs hit the side of my bunk and I have to bend them and sit down. He climbs into my lap and grinds his hips against mine, holding on to me mercilessly. His body is heavy and real, and he smells of sweat and danger. I'm confused and worried, and aroused far beyond what feels appropriate.

Malcolm swallows and leans into me, his breath coming in shallow gasps against my ear.  
”Matthew. I need –”  
I run my hands gently up and down his back.  
”It's okay,” I tell him. ”It's alright.”  
”Just fuck me,” he whispers back.  
The request stops me dead. Malcolm must have anticipated my reaction, because already, he's unzipping both our uniforms and tugging them off our shoulders, as if time is running out and I can't be trusted to do my part.

I prove him wrong by pushing him off me and getting out of my clothes as quickly as I can. As Malcolm undresses as well, several purple bruises on his arms and legs are revealed – a testament to what we've been through. I put my arm around his waist and pull him back down on the bunk with me. I strongly suspect that none of us are thinking straight right now, but perhaps we don't need to. Perhaps all we need is some release.

Malcolm grips my shoulders and urges me to lie down, then straddles me again, taking both our cocks in his hand. I suddenly realise he's only half hard. Then his hand squeezes and twists, and I gasp audibly before I can stop myself. He looks up and meets my eyes, and his features soften a little. I grab his free arm and pull him forward, down, so that I can run my hands down his strong, warm back and cup his buttocks. I massage them while he keeps stroking us both in the narrow gap between our bodies. 

By the time Malcolm rolls us over, he's panting slightly. We have to inch sideways to avoid hitting the wall, but when I'm finally able to put my full weight on him, he makes a choked, desperate sound and wraps his arms around me, as if trying to pull me even closer.

I trail my thumb across his lips and kiss him gently, making a small attempt at slowing things down. My fingers trace his cheek and jawline – soft, soft touches against the rough beginning of a stubble. His nails dig into my back.  
”Fuck me, Matthew,” he mouths against my lips.  
He controls me. I don't know how I could possibly refuse him.

Malcolm's hands move to admire my shoulders while I reach behind the mattress for the lube I placed there days ago. When I straighten up and get off him, he immediately takes it from me. I watch as he pours a pool of the clear liquid into his hand and slicks me up with swift strokes – _yes, that feels good_ – before turning over on his stomach. After a moment of simply staring at him, I swing my leg over his thighs and take hold of my glistening erection, rubbing it against the cleft between his buttocks. 

_Just like this?_

Malcolm has closed his eyes. He lies still, sprawled out, waiting for me.

_Okay then._

I line myself up, pressing just a little at first. I've never entered him without any preparation before. Malcolm brings his hands down and pulls his buttocks apart for me. The sight of it is almost more than I can take. 

I try to go slowly, but Malcolm keeps arching up against me, making noises that speak more of frustration than of pleasure. Eventually I give in and push myself all the way into him in one long, relentless move. He groans softly at that, and then his voice breaks into a series of sharp pants and gasps as I start moving. 

Leaning forward, I take hold of his wrists and pull his arms up until I can lock them in place with my weight. Malcolm is even tighter around me than usual, and there's more friction than I think there should be, but I've been rough with him before. He's always told me when to stop. I thrust slowly in and out of him a few more times.

And it feels good – no, it feels fucking _amazing_. If it wasn't for the warning in the back of my head, I know I'd already be hard pressed not to explode inside him, screaming his name to the stars. Malcolm calls for my attention with a sharp twist of his body.  
”I said _fuck me_.”

_God._

I roll my hips once, harder. Malcolm tenses up and emits a choking groan.  
”More,” he manages harshly.  
I do it again. And then again. And then I'm fucking him hard and fast, pressing him down into the mattress, my knuckles white from my grip on his wrists. Malcolm's eyes are screwed shut. His upper lip is twitching, and despite biting into the lower one, he is grunting louder with each time I drive myself into him. I pick up the speed, all patience lost as I feel my orgasm starting to build inside me. Seconds later I'm trembling on the edge, and then I come with a shout, jerking and emptying myself deep inside Malcolm's searing heat.

The tiredness that finally hits me as I come down from my high is overwhelming. I let go of Malcolm's wrists and lie down limply on his back. Despite my weight, he doesn't complain. His sweat sticks to my chest, and when I eventually gather my strength to sit up, I can see small drops along his hairline as well. He hasn't opened his eyes yet. When I begin to pull out of him, he winces and curls his fingers into his palms. Doing it more slowly barely seems to help.

I sit back on his thighs and part his buttocks carefully.  
”You're bleeding.”  
”Just leave it,” Malcolm snaps.

I let my hands slide away and slump down beside him with a sigh. From what I can see, it's just a few drops, but they definitely shouldn't be there.  
”I'm sorry,” I mumble. ”I didn't – I should've realised I was hurting you.”  
”Please, it's nothing,” Malcolm says resolutely. ”You didn't do anything wrong.”  
He shakes his head for emphasis before putting his arms under it for a pillow.

I'm torn between staying where I am and going for a wash up. I don't want to give Malcolm a chance to leave, but sitting here with his goddamn _blood_ on me is starting to make me light-headed. Coming to a decision, I jump off the bed and try to be as quick as I can. 

When I get out of the bathroom again, Malcolm looks like he hasn't moved an inch, even though he's apparently managed to find his underwear and put it on while I was away. I lie down on my back next to him.  
”Anything you want to talk about?”  
My voice comes out more insistent than I intended. The truth is that if Malcolm doesn't want to talk, I'd never dream of pressing him. For one, we don't have that kind of relationship to each other – and besides, I've been on the receiving end of those questions far too many times with far too many people. 

Malcolm isn't looking at me, but he hasn't closed his eyes either. The fine muscles in his face are moving, speaking of tension and thoughts in motion. He hasn't shut me out completely, which I've learnt to appreciate for what it is. I turn my face away, trying to give him the space he needs.

A few seconds later, there is a slow, hesitant intake of breath.  
”When you and your team rescued Hoshi from the Reptilians,” Malcolm says. ”Did you know that the transporter went down while you were over there?”  
I obligingly search my memory.  
”No. I wasn't informed.”  
”That's because it was only down for twelve seconds.”  
Malcolm's voice has gained a slight edge. I frown.  
”I don't follow.”  
”Trip told me that if he hadn't made those upgrades to the pattern buffer when we installed the covers you suggested – the ones he _never_ got around to before – he's not sure he would've got the transporter back online in time. If at all.”

_Oh._

I must have made a sound, and it's clearly not the reaction Malcolm was expecting, because he sits up and stares at me, jaw clenched tightly.  
”If I hadn't listened to you –”  
”You _did_ listen,” I say. ”That's all that matters.”

Malcolm shakes his head, but drops the subject. He flattens his hands against his knees and breathes in deeply. In through his nose, out through his mouth. I match his rhythm, listening as each breath becomes softer, quieter.

”What time is it?” he asks eventually.  
”Not past sixteen hundred,” I say, making a quick estimate. ”You'll have plenty of time to get back on the Bridge before our arrival.”  
Malcolm nods stiffly. Then a brief smile creeps onto his face, and I don't need to ask him to know what he's thinking about. We're only a few hours away now. _Earth – home to us and to the billions we helped saving._  
”Still,” he says hoarsely. ”I really should to be going.”

We sort our clothes out in silence. Back in his uniform, Malcolm looks like a completely different person. The man before me now is the Lieutenant Reed who left his captain behind on the Xindi weapon. I don't know what to say to him. 

I watch him walk across the room – back unnaturally straight, no spring in his step. He has almost reached the door when I manage to raise my voice.  
”Do me a favour, Malcolm.”  
He stops and turns halfway, waiting.  
”Don't make other people hurt you because you're feeling guilty over something.”  
There are so many things I want to say, but this will have to do. Malcolm looks down for a moment, raising his eyebrows.  
”I'll try to remember,” he says with a wry smile.

He throws a glance at me from under dark lashes before opening the door. Then he's gone again, and it's most definitely not even past sixteen hundred yet. I lie down and close my eyes, shutting out everything but the lingering scent of him on my skin and the sheets.

He's alive and breathing. It will have to do.

  


  


**Author's Note:**

> *pets the Major* 
> 
> "Shh, puppy, have a little faith ..."


End file.
